Overview

When Melissa's outer bands arrived, they arrived like a rumor: harmless rain, conversational wind. Then the wind found its angle. Palm fronds leaned, then learned a new alphabet, spelling words that only roofs can hear. Sirens ran a harmony line under the percussion of trash cans and shutters and hail that wasn't hail-just the sky trying to return pieces of the town to the town. The power grid blinked, tried to remember how to be a grid, then gave up in polite sections until darkness collected into something communal. Inside the hurricane, time behaves like a tide set by another moon. Minutes stretch into arguments; hours collapse into a single noise. In shelter gyms, children made forts beneath ping-pong tables and named the storm out loud like a character in a book. In a third-floor walk-up, a home health aide kept a pulse count by phone light and counted the seconds

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